Olympic Car Driving

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for a bicycle.

For the very first time in my life I went on an adventure all by myself; ok, half way by myself. My sister and her husband drove me as far as Biloxi, Mississippi and I went on to Florida alone.

My training for this event began as I tried to rent a car on line. I made it as far as "What size car do you want?" Once upon a time there were cars; just cars, not big cars, not little cars, not compact cars, not sub-compact cars, not economy cars, not midsize cars, not SUV's, not smart cars, not luxury cars, just cars. And their names were Chevrolet, Ford, Pontiac, Dodge, and Cadillac not Cobalt, Hyundai, Taurus, Elantra, Toyota, Avio, Kia, Fiat, Peugeot, Scamp, Swinger, Jeep, not Escalade, Escapade, Marmalade, or Just Made. I called the car rental place and asked a live person to hold a car for me. "Yes, what size would you like?" "An average size car for one person and one suitcase," I said.

I arrived the next morning to pick up my average size car. The rental agent seemed friendly enough. The car seemed friendly enough. I smiled in a friendly manner, signed the papers, paid the fees, and got the keys. I put the key in the ignition, pushed the gear shift forward which immediately activated the windshield wipers. Through much trial and error, I managed to deactivate the windshield wipers. However, when I tried to remove the key from the ignition to put my suitcase in the trunk, the anti-American automotive brat wouldn't turn loose. My niece said I had to push then pull. It worked but then there was no key hole in the trunk when I tried to open that. "Here, it's in the door." "What's in the door, the trunk?" "No, the button to open the trunk. "Why isn't it on the dashboard" "I don't know, but see there's a picture of the car with the trunk open." "In the door, at the bottom?" "Give me your suitcase." I located the real gear shift in the floor, waved good-by, and drove to the nearest gas station as I was on empty.

That's when the friendship really ended. The car was definitely un-American. No matter where I pushed or pried, or banged I could not open the hinged gasoline cover. I looked all over the dash for some kind of picture of a gas cap. I looked in all the unlikeliest places under the seat, in the backseat, in the glove compartment, above the visor, even the door.

After ten minutes I went inside the station. "I know this is a dumb question, but do any of you know how to put gasoline in this Hyundai rental car?" A child around twenty-two years old said "I do. I have a Hyundai." We walked out to the car. I was trying to push then pull to get the key in the lock to open the door. "You know you can just push the button on the key ring?" "Yes, thank you. I knew that." She opened the door and pointed to an itsy bitsy rectangular button with a picture of a teeny tiny Smurf sized gasoline pump stamped on it at the side of the driver's seat. Now who, but an unfriendly nation, would put the electronic switch to the gasoline cap on the floor of the car? "Thank you," I said again as the child walked away not quite stifling a giggle.

Car 1, Driver 0. The foreign car may have won this round, but there are more events to come. Next week GPS Let the games continue. Stay tuned.

A Salute to Average!!

By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for average t-shirt franchise

Somewhere along the way “Average” has become an adjective that applies to everyone else. Parents are screaming about testing, obviously inaccurate, that shows that their child is average. I have adopted the position that being average makes my child stand out from the crowd.

Think about it. In ballet class, every parent thinks their ballerina is superior, above average. My child is an average dancer, the only one it seems, so when the recital comes around, the entire superior above average dancers will be crowded onto the stage all dancing together and being compared to each other. My average dancer will be dancing a solo, since there are no other average dancers at the studio. There will be no one to compare her to; therefore, she will dance beautifully with no discernable mistakes and receive a standing ovation.

Then there are those SAT test scores. My child is average and will score that way on the SAT test. Because of this, others will look much smarter and more intelligent than they really are. In fact, the worse my child scores on the test, the better others will look. I can foresee desperate parents recruiting average students to enroll in classes designed to help them dumb-down before the tests in order to tilt their child’s scores upward. However, because my child is just “average”, she may qualify for all kinds of grants and incentives to help colleges and universities look like they are non-discriminatory and serving the needs of the average person as well as the super elite.

Being average can also keep you from being clobbered in dodge ball in required P.E. classes. Far superior athletes will be chosen first. The average will be chosen in the middle and the poorly skilled will be chosen last. During the game, the far superior athletes will go after the poorest players first. The average person, hiding in the corner, will be pretty much ignored until the end. By that time the far superior athletes will have worn themselves out pulverizing the easy targets and will lose their steam when it comes to attacking the average. The average players will take advantage of the situation and will triumph. Having defeated the top far superior athletes, the average will come to the attention of professional dodge ball coaches who are recruiting.

The Olympic coaches will then rethink the average child’s abilities and increase their interest. The professional recruiters will then become more aggressive and will up their offers. Once your child accepts, signs the five year no-cut contract, and is shuffled off to training camp, you can relax. Soon the coaches will discover that your child really is average and will be benched, safe from being pulverized by other powerful dodge ball athletes…but the no-cut contract is binding. The money keeps coming in and average wins again.

With the income, your child can open an Average Store. T shirts could sport logos that say “Robbers, don’t bother. All credit, no cash”, or “Jenny Craig, Go Away, My weight is Average”. The IRS would ignore your child’s business, because, after all, it’s just average. It’s a win win situation.

So the next time your friends begin bragging about their super superior children, just smile and say “No need to thank me; if it wasn’t for my child, yours would just be average. Want a t-shirt?”

Sweatin" WITH the Oldies

by Jody Worsham May 2010.
All rights reserved to purchase Ben Gay, Activon, Advil, and heating pad.

“Oh, well the kids will keep you young” say all my friends who aren’t raising their grandchildren. The truth is they don’t keep you young; what they do is keep you fit.
Just as you were developing that slightly past-50 tummy, your pants seemed to have shrunk, and napping seemed more appealing than taking that brisk walk around the block, enter your two grandchildren for 24/7 care. Your 24 hour at-home-gym is now open for your physical remake.
Your fitness regimen begins with hauling a 15 pound baby bucket with a 6 pound 12 ounce baby in and out of the back seat of a step-side suburban several times a day. This will create biceps even Michelle Obama would envy. Your calves and thighs will soon resemble those of Olympic speed skaters. This weight lifting step-side aerobics will continue every day with gradual increase in weight from the baby for at least 18 months.
Then wrestling an 18month old in and out of a bathtub several times a day will create flexibility in back muscles you didn’t even know you had. Waist bends while retrieving dropped toys, spoons, pacifiers, blankies, soap, toothbrushes, and diapers will create a reduced and flexible waist and shoulders capable of rotating a full 180 degrees. This will be an advantage to you later when you are driving and need to administer random swings and swats to the two squabbling children in the back seat. Since the children are strapped down in their car seats, your targets will remain somewhat stationary.
Lung capacity will also expand thus providing increased oxygenation for energy over time as you continue to give instructions and directions to the children who are playing four football fields away. This will also provide increased strength in your diaphragm enabling you to qualify for your black belt before the three-year-old.
There will be no need for you to buy a membership in expensive health clubs in order for you to have a good cardio vascular work out. Your heart rate and breathing will reach training levels several times a week when you suddenly remember among other things a) you forgot to pick up one of the kids, b) you don’t recognize the other kid you did pick up and c) 6 dozen cupcakes are due at the school in two hours.
No, raising your grandchildren will definitely not keep you young. You will, however, be in the best shape of your life! Be sure to watch for me in the Iron Man Triathlon this year. Go, Granny Go!